An Angry Retort
by Mayle
Summary: Sherlock comes back from hiding to find John in a place he'd never guessed. After 3 years of waiting for Sherlock to come back from the dead, John is addicted to drugs and very angry. Sherlock resolves to get John to forgive him, but John is not in a forgiving mood. (A little warning: it dissolves into some BDSM which is Bondage Discipline, Domination Submission, Sadism Masochism)
1. Chapter 1

"Oh, Sherlock, I was hoping you come and play," John's voice came out unclear and slightly slurred.

Sherlock stood over him, unsure what to say or do. John was laid across the couch on his side, with his legs bent at the knees. He was smiling sweetly at Sherlock, but his eyes were unfocused. Sherlock knelt beside the couch and touched john's arm. He was shocked to find that it was cold. John's normally full face was gaunt and haunted looking. His limbs were extremely thin and his clothes hung off of him, as though they were several sizes too big.

"John, I'm sorry I did what I did," Sherlock whispered, "wait. Aren't you surprised to see me?"

"Sherlock," John groaned, "That's so boring. I don't want to do the speech again. Let's just skip to the good part."

"Again?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Jus' hush, Sherlock," john put his hand on Sherlock's mouth.

This was the moment that Sherlock noticed that john's pupils were dilated. He saw that one of his feet was constantly moving and his hands were shaking. Suddenly he realized that john was _high. And looks as though he's been using for a while. He's all pale and sickly. Why? Why would he do this? _Sherlock roughly grabbed john's arm and jerked up the sleeve. He saw the tell-tale marks and dropped the arm as though it suddenly caught fire. Pure panic was building up in his chest. He never imagined that when he finally came home, he'd find John strung out on cocaine.

"John we need to get you to a-," Sherlock was interrupted by a rough pair of lips.

John's mouth pressed hard to his, silencing every thought he had. John leaned back slightly, still centimeters from his face.

"I said hush," John growled.

His lips were back on Sherlock's pressing him hard with an enthusiasm only drugs could create. John pushed him backwards onto the coffee table, breaking the rough kiss for only a moment. He straddled Sherlock and pressed his tongue past those pale lips. He didn't wait to ask Sherlock anything and he didn't hesitate for a moment. His hips ground viciously into Sherlock and his mouth sloppily attacked the warmth of Sherlock's. Sherlock finally came to his senses and pushed john back. John snarled in a feral way and tried to attack Sherlock again. As he came forward, Sherlock did the only thing he could think of; he punched John square in the face.

Apparently john was very weak, because it only took the one punch to knock him out. He fell half backwards and half sideways, landing half on the couch and slipping to the floor. Sherlock pressed his palms into his eyes trying to stall the tears that were threatening to form. He swiftly swooped down and pulled John up by his underarms. He sat him on the couch and managed to get him into his arms. He shuffled to the door and walked carefully down the steps. _There's no way that he was always this light _Sherlock thought as he hit the last step. He made it to the door and after several moments of struggling, he managed to twist the knob and open it. He debated for several moments before trying to hail a cab. It was fairly easy, considering he had no arm to wave. A cab pulled over and the cabbie hopped out.

"Let me help you," the cabbie shouted, "Is he ok?"

"He will be," Sherlock muttered, as the cabbie opened the door.

He managed to awkwardly push John inside and slip inside himself. He rearranged John, trying to be as gentle as possible. He told the cabbie the address and told him to step on it. The cabbie went as fast as possible, weaving through traffic and Sherlock sat back to look at John. The man looked younger and older at the same time. The sleep made him look peaceful and yet lines ran across his face everywhere. Sherlock's eyes began to pour as he looked at his john. _This wasn't how it was supposed to be _he dared to whisper in his mind. _But what did I really expect? To come home to a loving john who would hug me and hold me and say he missed me and be mad, but happy at the same time? That's what I wanted, but how could I believe that that is how it would be? Did I do this to him? _Sherlock didn't even try to stop the tears rolling down his face as he pulled John's unconscious body close to him.

"We're here," the cabbie called to the back seat, "But don't you think the hospital would be better?"

"No," Sherlock stated simply.

The cabbie shrugged and hopped out to open the door. Sherlock gathered John into his arms and stepped out of the cab. It was awkward and he had to be careful not to bump John against anything, but he managed just fine. He walked to the door and it opened before he reached it. He stepped inside without hesitation.

"Pay the man," he spat at his brother, through his tears.

Mycroft quickly handed the cabbie far more than the fare was. The cabbie grinned and shuffled off to leave. Sherlock merely walked in the house and laid John carefully onto the couch. He kneeled next to him, burying his face into John's thin, tight stomach. He sobbed into the familiar jumper, wishing he could go back and change a thousand things.

"What happened to him?" Mycroft asked cautiously.

"He was on DRUGS!" Sherlock stood and whirled on Mycroft in one fluid movement, "Why didn't you watch him?! Why didn't you check on him?! Didn't you CARE?! He was my best friend! He was my ONLY friend! And you just LEFT HIM ALONE! All your infinite power and you couldn't watch him?!"

"Sherlock, I thought he would be fine-," Mycroft started to defend himself, only to have Sherlock lash out again.

"You thought he would be FINE!" Sherlock screamed, "He had PTSD, he had NIGHTMARES! What is WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"I'm sorry," Mycroft murmured, "He was so steady and strong. I thought he would keep it together."

"You didn't even check once, did you?" Sherlock asked, "DID YOU?"

"No," Mycroft admitted in a small voice.

Sherlock let out a frustrated and strangled yell. He scrubbed his hands through his hair violently. His tears continued to fall and he made no move to stop them. There was a tiny cough behind him and he immediately was at John's side.

"Are you ok? John? Can you hear me?" Sherlock asked gently.

"Go away," John moaned, rolling onto his side facing away from Sherlock, "I can't deal with it right now. You just go away."

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, pleadingly, "I had to knock you out. You were acting strange and I had to get you somewhere to help. I'm sorry I was gone so long. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, John."

"Wait a minute," John sat up a bit, "This isn't my couch. Where am i?"

He turned and laid eyes on Sherlock kneeling beside him. he seemed to deem this normal, as he continued searching. Next he noticed Mycroft, which caused his eyes to go wide.

"Mycroft?" john said in confusion, "Why am I here? Is this your house?"

"Yes," Mycroft answered, "Sherlock brought you here after he found you on drugs at your flat."

"Sherlock couldn't have brought me here," John's jaw tightened, "He's a hallucination. Hallucinations don't take people places. Wait, how did you know that I see Sherlock?"

"Because this one isn't a hallucination, John," Mycroft said, as gently as he could manage.

John's eyes tried to focus back in on Sherlock.

"Sh-sherlock?" he sputtered.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, trying to nod in encouragement.

"My god, it IS you," john eyes widened in shock.

Sherlock smiled slightly and nodded a bit more enthusiastically. John's eyes shrunk to narrowed at him and he suddenly drew back his hand and slapped Sherlock right across the face. Sherlock stared with his mouth opened, slightly stunned at the slap. He turned back to John, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, "I had to do it, to save your life."

"I believe you," John said.

Then he slapped Sherlock again. Sherlock's eyes flashed an angry look, but they softened as he realized he probably deserved a million more slaps and punches and kicks. He clenched his jaw and turned back to John, patiently waiting for the next slap. Instead john leaned forward and kissed his lips lightly. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. He loved the soft feel of john's lips on his own. It was nice when John wasn't on drugs. But it was over all too quickly.

"Now take me home," he demanded.

"I think we should have Mycroft set you up in a-," Sherlock was silenced with another slap.

"Take. Me. Home!" John shouted through clenched teeth.

"Ok," Sherlock squeaked.

He stood gracefully and offered a hand to john who took it and rose shakily. He jerked his hand away as soon as he was up and Sherlock took that to mean move. he quickly strode to the door and opened it. John walked out the door without another word.

"Be careful," Mycroft called to Sherlock, "Call me if you need me."

Sherlock paused for a moment and turned back to Mycroft. He opened his mouth to say something, but just closed it. He nodded and quickly left, closing the door with a snap. He stepped quickly after John, who stood with his arms crossed at the curb. Sherlock hailed a cab and john got in without speaking. The whole ride, Sherlock wanted to say many things, but didn't know if he was allowed. At 221B, John stomped into the house and up the stairs, sitting heavily on the couch, his arms still crossed. Sherlock followed him, but instead went to the kitchen. He found that there was barely any tea and no milk. He made a cup anyway and brought it to John.

John glared at the cup as though it offended him and then glared at Sherlock. He knocked the cup from the outstretched hand with a swift motion. He then recrossed his arms and glowered at Sherlock.

"Well?" he snarled, "Clean it up."

Sherlock fell to the floor and picked up the mug, quickly taking it to the kitchen. He found a towel and went back to the living room, quickly cleaning up the tea. Once he was certain it was completely clean, he put the towel back in a laundry bin. He then returned to John and sat cautiously on the couch.

"No," John growled at him, his eyes bright with anger, "You do not get to sit on the couch."

Sherlock suppressed a frown and thought about moving to one of the chairs. _Maybe he wants me on the floor? _Sherlock wondered. He slid to the floor, sitting at John's feet. John made no sound and Sherlock took this to mean he was satisfied with Sherlock's choice. Sherlock sat patiently awaiting what would happen next. _Why am I doing this? _The thought popped into his head. _This is so undignified….but I want him to forgive me…_Sherlock looked up at John, hesitantly, wondering briefly if he was allowed to look at him. John gave him a hard stare, his jaw clenched. Sherlock dipped his head back down to look at the floor.

"Not crossed," John said tightly, "Sit on your knees."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest and question why, but he thought better of it. He silently shifted until he was sitting on his knees. He put his hands on his legs and kept his head bowed, unsure of what to do now. John shifted and brought his feet up to the couch. He lay down, curled up slightly and rested his head on his arm.

"You better be here when I wake up," he whispered dangerously.

"I will," Sherlock whispered back.

John apparently thought this was satisfactory as he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Sherlock stared at the floor, his hands half curled on his thighs. _What does he want from me? Does he just want to make me realize what I've done? Maybe it's some sort of test….I don't understand. _Sherlock sighed in frustration, but he didn't move. He resolved to prove himself to John and pass any test he threw at him. It seemed that the tables had turned as now Sherlock had to prove himself to John, the way John had struggled to do for Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock spent most of the time John was asleep, wondering why John was doing this and why he was complying. He turned slightly to look at John's sleeping face. This wasn't the John he was used to. This john was hard and cold. He didn't like it one bit. It was almost as if John had turned into Sherlock. Sherlock turned away from the sickly looking man that had once been his best friend. _What have I done? _He lamented, _john was so wonderful. He was so full of life and now he's a shell filled with anger and coldness. I did this to him…._Sherlock closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to go away. He knew John would never forgive him, but he had to at least try.

"Do your knees hurt?" asked a husky voice behind him.

Sherlock jumped violently, not realizing that john had awoken.

"Yes," he admitted, hoping honesty would cause john to warm up a bit.

"Good," was John's only answer.

He got up from the couch and stretched before making his way to the kitchen. Sherlock heard some shuffling, but didn't know what he was up to. John emerged from the kitchen holding a pair of shoes. He sat in his chair and pulled them on. He then looked at Sherlock.

"I refused to take your estate," john stated, "At first. I refused because I refused to believe you were dead. I was so depressed I went looking for something to cheer me up. I met up with an old mate of mine, who offered me drugs. When he said cocaine, I obliged. Why? Because that was what you took. My mate let me on at a lower price. I was still working at the clinic, so everything was fine. Until my mate moved and I got fired for being too distracted. I was left with two options. I still refused to believe you were dead, so I went and sold my body instead. Mostly I sucked dick. It seemed like it was always happening. Now I'm going out."

John stood and walked over to Sherlock. He placed a hand in his hair, weaving his fingers through the curls. He abruptly shoved Sherlock's face into his crotch. Sherlock gasped and sputtered, his heart beating wildly.

"You will sit like this until I get back," John whispered, "And maybe your knees will hurt as much as mine did when I went in to claim your estate."

John released Sherlock pushing back from him.

"But John I-," Sherlock started, only to be stopped by another stinging slap.

John grabbed his chin and roughly turned his face to him.

"No buts Sherlock," he growled.

He planted a soft, gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips that had Sherlock's eyes fluttering shut. Then he was gone. Sherlock kept his eyes closed, trying to hold on to the little bit of John that was still there. The lingering scent and the soft imprint of flesh. Sherlock sighed as it all faded away. His head drooped down. _Why do I feel happy? Why do I feel glad?...maybe I've been lonelier than I thought for these three years. I'm glad that I'm here and that he's here…why do I feel warm? _Sherlock's thoughts left a puzzled look on his face and he pressed a hand to his chest, where the warmth was spreading from. Suddenly, a smile spread across his features. His fingers touched his lips gingerly. _I hope he kisses me again _Sherlock thought.

Sherlock spent the rest of the next four hours trying to determine why he wanted John to kiss him. He started to assume that he felt some sort of attraction to him. When john came in the door, Sherlock looked up, eagerly. He wanted to grin and show john he'd done it, he'd stayed on his knees for as long as john had said. But he was afraid that a grin would anger john, so he pushed it down. John crossed to Sherlock and sat on the coffee table in front of him. He petted Sherlock's hair and gave him the tiniest of smiles.

"Very good, Sherlock," john said in a soothing voice.

Sherlock pressed his head into that hand and closed his eyes. He felt so happy. He felt pure bliss at john's words. _I've missed this, _he realized, _I've missed him complimenting me. I missed it so much and I didn't even know I did. _He found himself leaning forward, trying to get closer to john. He rested his head on John's thigh, nuzzling into it, glad for the warmth. There was a brief moment where Sherlock rested on john's thigh and john allowed it, his hand still in his hair. Then it was gone. John pushed him roughly away and stormed toward the kitchen. Sherlock practically whimpered at the loss, but he stayed put, unsure if he was allowed to get up now.

John shuffled around in the kitchen and came out holding a bowl. He placed the bowl on the coffee table in front of Sherlock. Sherlock peered down into it and realized it was rice.

"Get up," john commanded, "Eat."

He then left Sherlock to it, going up to his bedroom. Sherlock stood stiffly, stretching out his sore legs. He rubbed some feeling back into his legs. _I wonder how many…_Sherlock stopped that thought train before it could derail and become a fiery crash. He definitely did not want to know how many men John had been on his knees for. He quickly ate the rice and put the bowl in the sink, assuming he was now allowed to roam about the flat. He stretched a bit and then entered the bathroom, suddenly realizing how badly he had to piss.

He was finished with his business and about to tuck himself back into his pants, when suddenly john was pressed against his back, pushing him forward slightly. The sudden appearance caused him to gasp and wobble forward. His hands flailed out, trying to grab something. They luckily landed on the wall and he was able to steady himself.

"What are you doing, John?" his voice came out more hoarse than he expected.

"Shut it," John growled, grinding his hips into his arse.

Sherlock strained against the pressure. He pushed back against John, trying to push him way, but john had his arms wrapped firmly around Sherlock's middle. He struggled for a moment before succeeding in pushing John back. He fumbled with his trousers, trying to quickly tuck himself away. John grabbed his hands and held them tightly. Sherlock began to struggle, but remembered that John had some test he was doing. _Maybe this is part of the test? _Sherlock thought. He stopped struggling and allowed John to hold on to him. John nuzzled his face into Sherlock's back.

"How does it feel to be exposed, Sherlock?" john whispered in that husky voice.

"Embarrassing," Sherlock admitted in a tiny voice.

"When you faked your suicide," John said and he pressed his cheek into Sherlock's shoulder blade, "I was suddenly very famous. Everywhere I went people knew me. They all knew me as the lover of the man who faked his genius. The man who jumped off of St. Bart's. I was exposed for all of Britain to see. I might as well have been naked; so many secrets were published about me. And that's how I felt, Sherlock, like I was naked and the whole world could see me. And now, I can see you."

Sherlock blushed heavily, not quite sure why he was so embarrassed. He normally wouldn't have been so embarrassed. _I went into the Palace in a bed sheet, for god's sake. Why does this bother me? _Sherlock frowned deeply at his thoughts. John pressed himself even closer to Sherlock and leaned up slightly so his breath tickled Sherlock's ear.

"You've nothing to be embarrassed about, Sherlock," john whispered, "You're quite well equipped, actually."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Sherlock breathing heavily and his heart pounding wildly. Not to mention said equipment had responded positively to john's remark (apparently it was very proud now and wanted to show off). Sherlock hissed at his offensive appendage and shoved it back into his pants. He stumbled to the sink and turned on the tap. He leaned on the counter, unable to support his shaking body. _What the hell is wrong with me? _He looked in the mirror and saw that his pupils were blown wide with arousal. He shook his head and rubbed his face. _Stop it, Sherlock. It was just a compliment. It was just him saying that it was nice…_Sherlock shivered as john's voice floated back into his ear.

_"You're quite well equipped, actually."_

_ Why does this evoke arousal? Why does his approval cause me to become partly erect like this? Is it the voice he used? _Sherlock thought back, but could think of nothing different in John's voice. _He wasn't touching me in any particularly sexual way…so it had to be what he said. _Sherlock growled in frustration. _Why would such a thing evoke arousal? Perhaps I have underestimated my own ego. _Sherlock sighed heavily and turned off the water. He looked down at his unwashed hands and groaned. He brought his hands to his hair and weaved his fingers through them, considering the possibility of tearing his own hair out. _What are you doing to me, John?_


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was nestled in his sheets, completely comfortable and sound asleep. His dreams all revolved around a certain doctor. They were a whirlwind of colors and emotions and John's skin. Sherlock's hands reached for him in an effort to grab him and claim him as his own, but John danced just past his fingertips. Then suddenly, there was a warm body pressed hard against him, grinding into him. He turned his head, straining to see who had a hold of him. He realized that it wasn't his dream. He jerked awake to find John pressing himself against him. He was growling in Sherlock's ear, pressing his teeth against the skin of his throat.

"J-John?" Sherlock questioned, shakily, "What're you doing?"

"Quiet," John barked.

He pressed even more roughly against Sherlock. Sherlock hesitated, unsure what to do. _Is this another test? _Sherlock wondered, trying to figure out what was going on. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness as he tried to make deductions about John's movements. The first thing he noticed was the slight buzz that seemed to hum along John's entire body. He next noticed that though John was very enthusiastic, is movements were erratic and sloppy. _He's on drugs again, _Sherlock thought angrily. He roughly pushed John away.

"Sherlock," John growled, "I just want to play."

John leaned back forward to press his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock hesitated, loving the feel of John's rough lips on his own. _But this is wrong, this is so wrong, _Sherlock reminded himself. He allowed himself to press back against John's lips for a small moment before he firmly pushed John away. He then panicked, not sure what to do. John snarled at him grabbed his wrist. He tried to jerk out of the grip, but John seemed suddenly very strong.

"I need it," he hissed in a low voice.

Sherlock shivered at the feral look of need in John's eyes. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He gave up fighting and allowed John to take over. _He said he needs it…I don't understand…but I let him? Why? _Sherlock's thoughts whirled about as John's hand pressed down on his chest. His heart beat quickened under the burning palm. John flattened himself against Sherlock, kissing him softly on the lips. He trailed kisses down Sherlock's face and jaw. Sherlock shivered at the attention.

_What do I do? Should I do something?..._Sherlock had only had sex a few times and never with anyone he knew. Having John, his John, pressed up against him, kissing him, had a million thoughts running through his head and his heart hammering against his chest. _Data, data, data…._his thoughts started blurring as John's mouth was back on his. John pressed the tip of his tongue through Sherlock's lips. The slick feel of John's tongue sliding over his lips caused Sherlock to jolt suddenly. _His tongue causes arousal? _Sherlock thought wildly as he tried to collect his thoughts.

"Sherlock!" John suddenly snapped, his mouth mere centimeters from Sherlock's, "I'm getting impatient. Kiss me."

Sherlock froze, trying to remember how to kiss someone. _It's John, John said for me to kiss him, _Sherlock's thoughts ran rampant in his head. He sheepishly looked up at John, whose eyes were staring at him hard. He slowly closed the gap between his and John's mouths, trying to imitate John's previous actions. John hummed faintly and Sherlock's shoulders relaxed slightly. Sherlock hesitantly slipped his tongue to John's mouth. John opened his lips just wide enough to admit the small pink explorer. _This is new…need data, _Sherlock thought vaguely as he ran his tongue across John's teeth. He suddenly felt John grow heavier.

Sherlock's eyes flew open to see that John was falling asleep, his high apparently coming down. Sherlock fumbled for John's wrist and checked his pulse. It was slightly faster than normal, but it seemed to be slowing down. John's breath came deep and heavy into Sherlock's mouth. _Mint and…chocolate? _Sherlock's tongue flicked out to taste John's. _No. Coffee. Mint and coffee. Mmm…that's nice. _Sherlock willed himself to retreat his assault on John's mouth. He shifted slightly, allowing John's head to fall next to his. John's heavy breath tickled his neck. _His breath as well seems to be affecting me…_Sherlock thought, _perhaps this is just a sensitive area? Hmm. Need more data…_Sherlock shifted again, so that he was freer of John's weight. _I should go…and leave him to sleep._

But his body didn't move. He stared at John's sleeping face wondering why he liked to look at John so much. He quietly reached up and pushed some of John's now shaggy hair from his face. _Why'd he let it get so long? _Sherlock wondered. He sighed. Normally such trivial things would bore him and yet, as he laid there he couldn't help but wonder a million trivial things. _Does he still use milk in his tea? There wasn't any out there when I made him tea. Why does he still wear the jumpers? Does he still have the beige one? Are those my socks he's wearing? I wonder if he came in here while I was gone. I wonder if he smashed my violin. I didn't see it. I wasn't looking though. Mint and coffee? Does he only drink coffee now? Is his favorite color still blue? Does he still wear the red pants? _

Sherlock's mind didn't quiet until he passed out from pure exhaustion and even then, his dreams were all about John. They were memories of them chasing bad guys and John being so brave. It was his laughter and his smile. It was a whirlwind of John and only John. He could feel John's breath on his cheek and sometimes he woke briefly to make sure he was still there. His final dream was the brightest and the scariest. There was John leaning in and smiling. He told Sherlock he was brilliant. And Sherlock admitted something he never thought he would. Three words that hadn't come from his mouth since he was a boy. He woke up panting, though it was only a dream version of himself, he knew that what he had said was true.

"_I love you, John."_


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock found it easy to get up and do things for John. He made him breakfast every day. He washed the dishes. He made him tea. He cleaned the flat (he recalled that John hated the flat being messy). He even went out a bought the things they needed. Sometimes John accepted the things Sherlock did, but sometimes he would yell at him or throw things. Sherlock was becoming used to stinging slaps to his face.

Sherlock hadn't heard from anyone since he'd "came back". He simply sent a text to Lestrade and left it at that. So it was very surprising when he heard knocking on the front door. He opened it to find Lestrade breathing heavily. He raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, case, need you," Lestrade panted out.

"Hold on," Sherlock replied.

He went back up the stars to look for John. He found him sitting at the kitchen table, reading.

"John, Lestrade's just shown up," Sherlock said hesitantly, "Can I go with him?"

"Fine," John grunted at him.

Sherlock sprinted back down the stairs to the door. He grabbed his coat on the way and put it on in a hurry. He felt adrenaline pump through his veins. It had been forever since he'd had something to do and boy was he ready! He followed Lestrade down the street.

"How are you?" Lestrade asked him once they were a block away from 221B.

"I'm fine," Sherlock stated, "Yourself?"

"Fine," Lestrade nodded, "Who keeps slapping you?"

"What?" Sherlock whirled on him, "What are you talking about?"

"I can tell when someone is repeatedly slapped," Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Is it John?"

"No," Sherlock responded curtly, "Of course not."

"Whatever," Lestrade answered, "The case is about this kid…"

Lestrade spun the tale to Sherlock who easily absorbed all the information. He then told Lestrade where they needed to go. They went off on an adventure to solve the case. It was pretty simple, actually, but Sherlock loved making Lestrade follow him all over London. _I wish it was John, _he lamented silently. That made him speed up and finish the case quickly. Lestrade made him go to the home of the mother, who kissed him repeatedly on the face in thanks for finding her child. Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disgust and he whipped at his face once they left.

When he finally made it home, it was late. He assumed John had already gone to bed when he came home to silence. He hung his coat up and went to make some tea.

"Where the fuck were you?" a hard voice demanded.

Sherlock spun around to find an angry John glaring at him from his own chair.

"There was a case," Sherlock said sheepishly, "It took a bit of time…"

John jumped up from the chair and sprinted at Sherlock, who flinched in preparation of the slap. Instead John grabbed his shirt and growled in his face.

"Why is there lipstick on your face?" he spat at Sherlock.

"There was just this woman-," Sherlock began.

He was silenced by a fist coming down on his eye. He sputtered, stumbling backward. John came forward and grabbed his shirt again.

"You are mine, Sherlock," he hissed at the man, "Do not forget it!"

With that he shoved Sherlock, who fell and stormed off. Sherlock sat for a moment, too stunned to realize what was going on. Somehow, he liked what John had said. _How can a person like something like this? What does this mean? I don't understand…_Sherlock sat for a few more minutes trying to make things make sense in his mind. He couldn't, which he found very infuriating. He did the only thing he could think of: he got on the internet.

His search led to many things that made his stomach flip. It took him several moments into looking through the images (of chains and leather and collars) to realize that he _liked _it. Not only did he _like _it, he found it sexually arousing. He allowed the images to swamp his mind. He started replacing the people in the pictures he saw with himself and John. This made it even worse for him. He quickly started recording data in a special spot in his mind, now dubbed "sexual arousal". He registered which images and positions he liked more than others. He registered which ones seemed to evoke more of a reaction from him. Soon he was filled with information on something he hardly ever paid attention to. _Is this what John wants? _He thought. He suddenly had what he thought was a very good idea

He did a search to find the nearest place where he could buy the item he needed. He found one and quickly traced the best route. He looked at the time. _It won't be open for another two hours, _he thought in frustration. He whiled away the hours, looking more into this new thing that he found. Eventually, he pushed himself away from it and donned on his coat. He found some paper and quickly left a note for John. He then rushed from the flat and down his route to find the shop.

Upon entering, he was assaulted with the image of many things. He'd never been in a shop like this before and he found it odd and oddly nice. His eyes scanned through the shop, unsure of where to begin looking. He knew what he wanted, but he wasn't sure where it would be and he didn't want to roam aimlessly around the shop like an idiot.

"Can I help you, sir?" an amused female voice asked.

Sherlock turned to where the voice came from. It was a short, blonde woman who had a sweet smile on her lips. Sherlock deemed her friendly and decided that since she was a clerk, she probably could help him.

"I need a collar," he replied.

* * *

**Little note: And BAM! How'd you like that? ^_^ Love you guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

"What type?" the clerk questioned.

"Um," Sherlock's eyes darted around in a brief moment of panic.

"Ah, I see," she said, knowingly, "Come with me."

She started off through the store and Sherlock hesitantly followed. This was all new territory for him, but he felt that this may be a way to show John he was here for good and he was truly sorry. The woman took a few turns and stopped. Sherlock caught up and stared at the shelf in front of him. It had rows and rows of collars. His eyes zipped back and forth trying to register every item. Some were different colors, others different materials, some had spikes or studs, and some had words on them.

"You've never bought anything like this before, have you?" the clerk questioned, "Oh, never mind, I can tell you haven't. What's he like?"

"Who?" Sherlock choked out.

"Your partner," she raised an eyebrow at him, "A man, obviously, by the look of your eye. Most dom women do not use closed fists. Most doms don't use closed fists, male or not, so clearly he's not initiating it. He's aggressive and you're trying to please him then. You're normally the aggressive one, though. I can tell by the way you hold yourself. Hmm. Leather is hard work. That takes a lot of care and isn't for really for beginners. Though, I have the feeling you will take very good care of it, won't you?"

Sherlock nodded dumbly as the clerk deduced him as he did others. _Is this how everyone feels when I do it to them?_

"Let's see," the woman's fingers danced across the rows, lingering here and there, "I can't quite decide if we're talking purple or green here…or perhaps scarlet is more appropriate for the situation? No, no. If the dom had come in, maybe…"

The woman muttered to herself as Sherlock watched her fingers. She lingered hesitantly over a lovely lavender colored collar. There was a small, silver colored D-ring attached to it and a small "C" printed on the side. She shook her head and moved her fingers along stopping for a few seconds at a lime green color. Her lips twisted and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She seemed hesitant to decide on any one collar, until after quite an expanse of time she removed a dark purple collar from the row. She turned it over her fingers a few times before handing it to Sherlock. He took it and gasped slightly at how light it was.

"I think this will do," she said, nodding her head firmly, "Purple means the dominant in the relationship has conquered a royal or some other with a higher status, especially in their own mind. You're quite proud of yourself and yet, your partner has brought you down to the rest of the world. There is no D-ring for one simple reason: you don't need it, your relationship is rocky. Clearly a leash would be too far for you. Come on now, we'll make sure this is the correct size for you."

She reached up to help Sherlock fasten the collar around his neck. As the leather pressed against his neck he felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine. His nimble fingers turned rather clumsy with the buckle. The woman easily buckled it. Sherlock felt around the entire length, the excitement in him bouncing through his insides. His fingers brushed across the stiff leather as he tried to quell his excitement. He looked at the clerk, who had a small, satisfied smile on her face. She reached up and slipped her fingers in between Sherlock's neck and the collar. She frowned slightly.

"I think you'll need the next size down," she quickly unbuckled the collar and retrieved a smaller size.

She buckled on the new one, which made Sherlock smile. She smiled up at him and gestured for him to follow her. He followed her a few short steps and she pointed at a mirror. Sherlock looked in the mirror to see someone completely different than himself. He gingerly touched his slightly swollen eye. He could see that one of his cheeks seemed permanently red. He turned his head and the collar rubbed slightly. His eyes immediately focused on the dark purple material. It was like a belt, only stiffer and smaller. His fingers ghosted over the buckle. He felt something straining in his face and looked up to find that it was a bright smile.

_I don't care if John likes it,_ Sherlock suddenly realized, _I like it. I like it a lot._ He pressed his fingertips to the smile plastered on his face. The clerk was smiling in the mirror at him.

"You like it," she stated, "Did you want a tag or something engraved in it?"

"Yes," Sherlock said brightly, "Can I get a fairly small tag? One that won't be too noticeable?"

"You can," she answered, "You'll have to come back in a while. It takes some time to get things done. I'll have it rushed though."

Sherlock smiled gratefully at the woman he deemed his new friend.

"what would you like it to say?" she asked.

Sherlock felt his lips part as his grin widened.

"If found, return to John at 221B Baker Street," Sherlock answered.

"That's your partner," the clerk replied, in a clear statement, rather than a question, "Well, give it here and we'll get it done. What shape would you like?"

"Circle," Sherlock said as he slowly removed the color.

"Silver?" the woman questioned as she took the collar.

Sherlock nodded as he watched he run her fingers over his new found toy.

"I'll be right back and then we'll talk about care of it," she told him before hurrying off.

Sherlock found that the grin was still lighting up his face. He made no move to suppress it, for he was just too happy to care if he looked like a fool. The clerk came back quickly and told him all about how to care for his collar. He listened carefully and absorbed every detail she told him. At the end of the speech she checked her watch.

"It's going to be about an hour before he'll have it done," she said, "It'd be longer, but I told him it was rather important. He moaned and groaned a bit but set straight to work."

"I'll come back around in an hour then," Sherlock replied, "Thank you for all your help."

"It was my pleasure," she smiled at him, "If you need any more help, I work here every day but Sunday. I always work the morning shift, as well. See you later."

"Later," Sherlock called as he bounced out of the shop.

He returned to the flat, for lack of anything else to do. When he arrived he heard John in the kitchen. He came around the corner to find John sitting at the table, drinking tea. He had color in his face and no bags under his eyes. Sherlock brightened even further at John's healthier looking appearance.

"John, how are you?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm good, Sherlock," John mumbled, "Please sit."

Sherlock came forward and obediently sat.

"I need to apologize," John said clearly, "I shouldn't have hit you. I realized that after it was too late and I'm very sorry. I'm glad you're here Sherlock and I've decided to sober up."

Sherlock felt a small bubble of joy float up inside of him that was quickly deflated with this thought: _does that mean I can't do the collar now?_

"I'm glad you're going to be sober now," Sherlock answered with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"I figured you would be," John replied, "I went to the clinic and had them get some of it out of me. It's not a pleasant process. Anyway, I'll probably be very irritable for the next month or so."

"I know!" Sherlock snapped at him, "I went through it too!"

"Sorry, I forgot," John answered in a calm voice.

Sherlock growled in frustration. _You always ruin everything, John Watson! You can never just let things as they are! _Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the curls. _I suppose I could….i could wear it still. He wouldn't have to know…I wear the scarf enough. He wouldn't notice if I was wearing it, since it's not that bulky….yes, I can still wear it…_his mood calmed significantly at his thoughts.

"Sherlock," John called, "How'd the case go?"

"Well, I finished it rather quickly," Sherlock sniffed, "It was rather elementary, actually."

"Tell me about it," John said as he leaned forward.

Sherlock didn't hesitate for a moment as he launched into the tale. He talked about running all over London and realizing that it was obviously the man with the purple umbrella. John smiled the whole time and nodded here and there. Sherlock ended by talking about the overly grateful mother.

"I see," John clicked his tongue, "That would be the lipstick then."

Sherlock nodded and suddenly looked at the time. He leapt up from his chair and bolted for the door, only stopping briefly to look back at John.

"Sorry, I've got something to do," Sherlock stated.

He fled before he could change his mind and ran through the streets. _Gotta get it, gotta get it, _pounded in his head as he ran. When he made it to the shop, he was breathless. He flung open the door and looked every way for the clerk. He spotted her blonde head near the register. He strode quickly over to her.

"Ah, I figured you'd show up pretty soon," she said as Sherlock approached and started talking before he could demand to have his collar, "He's just given it to me. Here you go, take a look."

Sherlock took the collar from her outstretched hand. The tag hung from the buckle. He inspected it, wondering how someone could make something so delicate and so strong at the same time. The clerk soundless brought out the cleaning things for Sherlock's collar and rang it all up. She told him the price, which he wasn't surprised at. She then bagged it all and handed it over. He took the bag and hurried home, only flinging a hand over his shoulder to signal goodbye.

As soon as he got to the flat, he wasted no time at all. He bolted straight for his room and locked the door. He quickly buckled the collar on and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know what it was about the collar he loved so much, but he suddenly felt that he _needed _it. He suddenly had no idea how he'd lived without one all these years. He found himself brushing his fingertips over it and smiling. He didn't know how he would hide it all the time, but he determined he was going to. _Because I need it, _he thought fondly as he laid down on his bed and allowed himself to drift to sleep.

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**Little note: Everything I said about the collars was accurate. I had some prior knowledge, but made sure to look up everything just to make sure I had it correct. If you're wondering what Sherlock's collar looks like here's a URL to one that looks similar:**

http: backslash backslash www dot altdate dot co dot uk backslash wp-content backslash uploads backslash

**However, there are no spikes on Sherlock's and Sherlock's is obviously a different color. Anyway! Hope you enjoyed it! Love you all!**


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock wrapped the sheet tightly around him, bunching it around his neck. He looked in the full-length mirror in his room and smiled. _Perfect, _Sherlock thought, _he won't be able to see it at all. _Sherlock grinned at himself in the mirror and pranced out to the living room. He saw John sitting on the couch, tapping away on his computer, with a mug in his hand. Sherlock sat on the ground near him. John looked down with a raised eyebrow, then his face changed and his eyebrows came together.

"No, Sherlock, don't," John said, "Sorry about that. Just sit where you want you don't have to sit on the floor. You don't have to do anything that I said, ok?"

Sherlock nodded curtly, but stayed on the floor. Sherlock found it strangely exhilarating to be at the floor at John's feet with a collar on. He sat there, rather still as John continued tapping at the computer. Sherlock briefly wondered what he was writing. His wonder was quelled when his phone made a beeping noise.

_Got a case. Hurry. –GL_

Sherlock jumped up in excitement as the next text came through with an address and details on the case. He rushed into his room and dressed quickly, making sure to wrap the blue scarf around his throat. Well, around his _collar, _really. He hurried out to the living room to find John completely dressed with his coat on, standing by the stairs. He raised his eyebrow at him. John shrugged and gestured down the stairs. Sherlock quickly ran down them and out the door. He hailed a cab and they were in it and on their way in a matter of minutes.

"How did you know there was a case?" Sherlock questioned.

"By the excided way you jumped up," John answered.

"I see," Sherlock replied.

He watched John out of the corner of his eye. John was staring out the window as per his usual demeanor. Sherlock smiled at the thought that he may get the old John back, but his smile was short lived as he reached up and touched his scarf. He could feel the stiff leather through the scarf and he pressed his fingers hard against it, closing his eyes. Images began flashing across the back of his eyelids that left him breathless.

"Sherlock?" John's voice snapped him out of his daydream.

"What? Yes, we're here, of course," Sherlock leapt out of the cab throwing some money at the cabbie.

John clumsily followed him. Sherlock strode up to the crime scene and quickly told Andersen he was an idiot. Andersen merely rolled his eyes. Sherlock shifted around the crime scene, rather uncomfortably. He tried to will away the erection that was prominently trying to catch everyone's attention (most especially John's). Sherlock told Lestrade where to find the killer and quickly started to leave.

"Oi! Sherlock, can I talk to you a minute?" Lestrade called out.

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled.

He went off a distance with Lestrade. He impatiently turned to face the shorter man, who suddenly grabbed him and yanked his scarf down.

"I knew it!" Lestrade shouted, "What is this? "If found please return to John at 221B Baker Street" Are you mental Sherlock? Why would you allow him to put this on you? After he hit you? You could end up hurt!"

"I didn't," Sherlock snarled, pushing out of Lestrade's grip, "I put it on myself. He doesn't know about it."

He hurriedly covered the collar with his scarf.

"Why would you do that?" Lestrade questioned.

"Because I want him to own me!" Sherlock yelled at him, "Are you satisfied? Can I please go now?"

"No! I'm not!" Lestrade said in outrage, "This isn't healthy, Sherlock! You can't do this to yourself."

"It is perfectly healthy!" Sherlock responded, "Thousands and thousands of people do things such as this every day!"

"That's not what I meant," Lestrade said, trying to calm his voice, "You can't go around with this bottled up inside you. You need to tell him."

Sherlock was taken aback at Lestrade's words. He opened his mouth to respond, but Lestrade beat him to it.

"You need to tell him you love him before it's too late," Lestrade said.

He then left Sherlock to stare after him in bewilderment. _How the hell did he know? Does wanting to be owned by a person imply love? This makes very little sense. _Sherlock's thoughts caused his eyebrows to come together. He quickly strode over to John barking that they were going home. He cast an angry look at Lestrade who just shook his head.

"What was that all about?" John asked after they were in the cab.

Sherlock shook his head and clutched at his throat. _I can't tell John. I just can't._

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**Little note: I should mention that the original plot was quite different, but my writer's instinct had me going in a different direction. Thank you for your follows, favorites and reviews! Love you all!**


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock found himself staring at the ceiling, wondering what direction he was allowing himself to go. He could see John twitching about nervously, out of the corner of his eye. He knew John's sobriety was getting to the ex-soldier. He could see him scratching at his arms and he willed himself to stay put and leave the man be. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to think about his current situation.

"Sherlock, what is this?" John's voice floated in his ear.

Sherlock felt fingers on his throat and a slight tugging at his scarf. His eyes flew open.

"Nothing!" he shouted, "Nothing at all!"

He tried to leap away from the smaller man, but a single hand pressed against his chest and smoldering blue eyes stared into his. He faltered at the angry look in John's eyes.

"I-it's just a collar," Sherlock said in a tiny voice.

"Why?" John questioned, anger ringing in his voice.

"I j-just…" Sherlock trailed off, unsure of what he could say.

John's eyes moved back to the collar and he put his fingers on the small, silver tag. Sherlock's breath hitched as the man's eyes flicked back and forth, reading the engraving. His eyes darted up to Sherlock's face.

"Why would you have something like this engraved on a collar tag?" John asked him, his voice clear and calm.

Sherlock's heart beat wildly against his chest and he couldn't think of a good enough lie.

"I just want you to own me," Sherlock whispered.

"I see," John answered, his eyes flicking back to the tag, "And when did you decide that?"

"Not too long ago," Sherlock answered, "You said I was yours…and I liked it. And then I looked up some things and I saw this thing about collars. It was amazing and I wanted it and I thought maybe you did too and so I went to this shop and the lady picked this out for me. And I told her I wanted the tag to say this. She said that purple means taming of someone who is very high and mighty and that's what you did, John you tamed me. And I want to be yours and I'll never leave you and I'll be good."

Sherlock realized he was starting to sound incredibly pathetic so he snapped his mouth shut. John's eyes were still on the collar and the tag. Sherlock saw a war waging in his face and wondered if he was trying to decide if what Sherlock said was true.

"I love you," Sherlock blurted.

John's eyes flew up to his.

"Are you lying?" John asked in a low tone.

"No," Sherlock answered earnestly, "I love you. I never loved anyone before, John."

"Good," John whispered, "But you'll have to wait. I'm having withdrawals and I will have them for a while. Once they are gone. I will have you. You will be mine and no one can take you. Understood?"

Sherlock felt shivers go up and down his spine.

"Yes," he managed to squeak out.

"Yes what?" John said in a dangerously low voice.

"Yes, sir," Sherlock whispered.

"That's a good boy," John leaned forward and petted Sherlock's head.

Sherlock practically purred with the touch. John's lips briefly met his and then he was gone. Out of the flat within a few minutes. Sherlock whimpered quietly at the loss of John. He wasn't sure what John's leaving meant and it scared him. his phone beeped him out of his self-pity. He looked down to find a text from none other than the man who just left.

_Just going to Mycroft, so he can isolate me somewhere while my withdrawals are going through. –JW_

Sherlock smiled and quickly texted back.

_I will miss you. I love you. –SH_

Within seconds his text was returned.

_ I will miss you too. Be good until I get home. I love you too. –JW_

Sherlock's heart thumped wildly against his chest at John's last statement. He brought his fingers up to brush them across his collar. _He said he loves me…_

* * *

**Little note: Hey, you guys! You few that are reading this! ;) If you would like me to write another chapter, taking place after John is all back to normal again, then go ahead and review a 1. That's all you have to do! Just write 1 in the review box and send it in! If I get enough 1's then I will post anoher chapter! If not, then it was lovely writing for you guys and I hope to see you on my other stories! Love you all!**


	8. Chapter 8

**WARNING WARNING WARNING! Here be lots and lots of slash! Slash everywhere! Drowning in slash!**

* * *

Sherlock barely moved from his position on the floor. He got up occasionally to eat, use the bathroom and shower. He didn't even leave the flat for fear that John would come home while he was away. Once in a while he got a text from John saying that he missed him or asking if he was being good. Sherlock always responded quickly and positively. He didn't know how long he waited, but pretty soon the front door was opening and a call was sent up the stairs.

"Sherlock?" John called, "I'm home. Are you here?"

"Yes, sir," Sherlock called back down to him.

He stood and rushed over to the staircase. John quickly ascended within a few moments. Sherlock marveled at how different John looked. He seemed to have more weight, though he was still immensely skinny. There was a light in his eyes and he smelled fresh and clean. Sherlock happily threw his arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

"Down, Sherlock," John grunted into his shoulder.

Sherlock retreated and sat abruptly. John smiled down at him and took his coat off. He hung it up on the rack and stretched out his back. Sherlock watched his every move with a buzzing excitement. John had a smirk on his face that almost annoyed Sherlock. _He knows what I want and yet he continues to play about it, why does he do this? _Sherlock frowned slightly, trying to deduce John's reasoning. John crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his face

"No, no," John whispered to him, "None of that frowning, my dear."

"Yes, sir," Sherlock answered.

He quickly beamed at John, showing him he could do as he was told. John reached his hand up and petted Sherlock's dark curls.

"That's a good boy, Sherlock," John hummed.

If Sherlock had had a tail, it would have been wagging. John planted a quick, chaste kiss on his lips and then stood again. Sherlock forced himself not to frown at the movement. John went around him to the kitchen and Sherlock heard the sound of a kettle being put on. John returned quite a while later with a cup in his hand. He sat down on the couch and took a sip of his tea.

"Come here, Sherlock," John called to him.

Sherlock debated a brief moment before crawling over to John. He settled himself between John's feet, which seemed to please John, as he reached down and petted Sherlock's head again. It took every bit of self-control Sherlock had to keep himself calm enough to wait for John's next move (to be fair, John was taking forever). Finally, John finished his cup on tea and set it down on the coffee table. He patted the spot on the couch next to him and Sherlock eagerly jumped up to join him.

"You're quite excited, aren't you?" John mused.

"Yes, I am," Sherlock managed to strangle out.

John smirked at him some more and leaned toward him. Expecting a kiss, Sherlock leaned toward John in return. Instead of feeling lips on his, he felt a yank on his neck as he was pulled forward by his collar. He looked to see John's now dark eyes, staring at the collar. Sherlock shivered at the small amount of pain that the collar caused as it dug into his skin.

"So, I own you now," John said, still looking at the collar, "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Sherlock managed to whisper.

John's eyes flicked up to Sherlock's and he pulled on the collar again, tugging Sherlock closer.

"Yes what?" he questioned in a tone that sent shivers up and down Sherlock's spine.

"Yes, sir," Sherlock said shakily.

"Good boy," John whispered.

Sherlock felt electricity flicker up and down his skin. He didn't know what to expect, he didn't know what to do. _John's in charge, he's the leader, the master, _Sherlock's thoughts sent heat and sparks down to his groin. John was searching Sherlock's face, as though he was determining exactly what he wanted to do. Sherlock was quivering in excitement and a tiny amount of fear. John yanked on the collar and brought Sherlock down to his face. He pressed his lips against Sherlock's, who responded with enthusiasm. John kept one hand tight around the collar while the other wove through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock opened his mouth and pushed his tongue against John's lips in hopes that this would speed the process up. John's hand tightened in in hair and he yanked his head back, breaking the kiss.

"No, Sherlock," John growled, "I am leading this. You follow me."

"Yes, sir," Sherlock practically whimpered.

John relaxed his hand and pressed his lips back to Sherlock's. Sherlock pressed back in a gentle, careful way. Finally, after what seemed like a million years, John's tongue swiped across Sherlock's upper lip, asking for access. Sherlock parted his lips and John's tongue dove inside. Sherlock tasted the tea John had recent drank as the little pink explorer was making short work of identifying every last centimeter of Sherlock's mouth. The tip of John's tongue slid across Sherlock's bottom teeth, which made Sherlock shiver in shock. _That's new, _he thought as he lifted his own tongue to touch Johns. John pulled away from Sherlock and leapt off the sofa. The sudden movement caused Sherlock to be yanked forward and half fall from the sofa. Sherlock struggled to stand with John's hand still wrapped tightly around the collar. John started toward the hall and Sherlock had little choice but to follow, stumbling as John pulled him into his own room.

"Come on!" John threw over his shoulder as he threw Sherlock into his room, releasing him so he went flying into the room, stumbling and almost falling.

He quickly slammed the door and turned back to Sherlock who felt his knees go weak at the intensity of John's gaze. John grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck and brought him down to attack his mouth. Sherlock found himself gasping as he tried to keep up with John's assault. Sherlock felt himself fall sideways as John pushed him onto the bed. He shifted to look up at John, who had swiftly thrown off his shirt and was now making short work of his zipper and belt.

"Bottoms off," John growled at him.

Sherlock's shaking hands pushed at his clothes until he managed to remove them, leaving his erection bare and standing at attention for John (apparently Sherlock's penis was very eager and proud of itself). John freed his own erection without pulling his clothes off. He settled down between Sherlock's legs, spreading them wide. Sherlock found himself gripping his sheets anxiously anticipating what would happen next. John leaned down and kissed his lips softly, before reaching over to open the drawer on his nightstand. Sherlock found himself blushing as a healthy sized bottle of lube was brought out of the drawer. John opened the cap and tipped the bottle over, pouring it over his fingers. John brought the fingers to his nose and a smile spread across his face.

"John, don't even say anything," Sherlock grunted at him.

"What?" John said innocently, "Why would I say anything about your lube smelling like blueberries?"

He was grinning widely at Sherlock, who covered his red face. He jumped violently went something cold and wet pressed against his ass. His hands flew away and he looked to see John's wicked grin. John's fingers slipped smoothly into Sherlock's hot hole. Sherlock shuddered, his body tensing at the intrusion.

"Relax, love," John whispered at him.

Sherlock took several breaths and his body calmed. He felt pressure on either side of his hole as John scissored his fingers back and forth. Sherlock quickly relaxed, his body growing accustomed to the new visitor. His whole body lifted from the bed in a spasm as John's finger brushed that amazing little spot inside him. He heard a sound bubble up from his throat and fly from his mouth. It was the most unholy sound he'd ever heard in his life and it made him clamp a hand over his mouth. Another hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged it away.

"I want to hear," John whispered at him.

Sherlock nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as John's finger brushed back against the spot. Sherlock felt John shift around him and something much larger than two fingers pressed into him. He gasped and gripped at the sheets as John pushed himself in.

"Lift your ass higher," John muttered.

Sherlock lifted himself up a bit and John used the new found leverage to thrust himself the rest of the way inside Sherlock. Sherlock cracked open an eye to watch as John pressed his legs up. He thought he looked rather silly with his knees up by John's head and he had to giggle. John looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. Sherlock shook his head.

"Just go," he gasped out at him.

John's lips twitched in a tiny smile before he pulled himself out and slammed back in. he dropped Sherlock's legs, which wrapped themselves around his waist (Sherlock totally didn't remember doing it) and leaned forward, quickly thrusting out and back in again. John grabbed Sherlock's hands and pressed them above his head, pinning them down so Sherlock couldn't move them. Sherlock felt his eyes roll back as John thrust himself in him and back out. He tried to focus on how many times John thrust, on the rocking of the bed, on the pressure on his wrists or the way his toes curled, but his mind was lost in a fog, the only feeling being that of pleasure every time John scraped across his prostate. He heard his own name through the fog of pleasure as John started shouting the most obscene things. Sherlock's mouth opened as he tried to respond, but only moans came out. He heard a tiny clinking noise as his tag bounced up and down on his chest. John's movements became jerky and sporadic. The rhythm was lost as he began thrusting with a jumbled up need. Sherlock felt the pressure leave his wrists and a hand wrap around his own erection which had been bouncing along with the ride. John scraped against his prostate again and his whole body tensed up, his hands groped for something to hang on to and his feet curled up like roly-polies. His hips weakly thrusted up in an attempt to rid him of the sudden tightness

"Oh my fucking-!" Sherlock was interrupted by a sudden wave of hormones and semen.

Something hot splattered against his now-exposed stomach (the shirt had rolled up in an attempt to run away from the scene unfolding before it). Sherlock's hips fluttered up and down as the waves of pleasure slowly died down. It took him several moments to come back down to earth and realize that hot hands were still gripping his hips. He thrust against John, trying to speed up the other man's orgasm. It wasn't more than two minutes before something hot and liquid spurted into Sherlock. Sherlock squirmed at the new feeling. John tried to hold himself up, but instead ended up falling. He went sideways, bringing Sherlock with him, and sliding out with a nasty wet popping noise.

"Gross," Sherlock grunted at the wetness trailing down his leg.

"Sorry," John whispered, "No. Actually, I'm not."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be cuddled against. He guessed that this was that "post-orgasmic haze" that people talked about. He'd never had that before. Usually it was quick and over with and the person was gone. But this time he was pressed against a warm body with sperm everywhere. He wasn't sure it was the greatest of changes.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John grumbled at him, "We'll clean it up in a bit. Can't you just enjoy the moment?"

"How'd you know what I was thinking?" Sherlock questioned.

"Because I'm telepathic," John said sarcastically, "Now shut it."

Sherlock snapped his mouth shut and rolled his eyes. He snuggled his face into John's chest and took a deep breath. It smelled like sweat, sex and blueberries. He thought that was rather nice. His collar pressed against his neck slightly and he found himself grinning. He loved the way John's arms were wrapped around him possessively. He realized suddenly that he loved the change, as gross as semen felt, it was rather wonderful to lay cuddled up with John. _Is this what happiness is? _He wondered as the after effects of his orgasm began to take effect, his eyelids drooping closed.

* * *

**Little note: And that's the end. I got so many 1's I was dying! And there was so much demand in the 1's too. It was only a 1, but half the time I felt like it also said "And if you don't, I will come to your house and murder you. I will drag you outside and beat the marshmallow fluff out of you!" So here you go! I hope you guys liked it! And this is the end, sorry! Love you all!**


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